Sentimental Hangman

'Tis hard to hang a husky ladWhen larks are in the sky;It hurts when daffydills are gladTo wring a neck awry,When joy o' Spring is in the sapAnd cheery in the sun,'Tis sad to string aloft a chap,No matter what he done.

And sittin' in the pub o' nightI hears that prison bell,And wonders if it's reely rightTo haste a man to hell,

For doin' what he had to do,Through greed, or lust, or hate . . .Aye, them seem rightful words to you,But me, I calls it - Fate.

Lots more would flout the gallows tree,But that they are afraid;And so to save society,I ply my grisly trade.Yet as I throttle eager breathAnd plunge to his hell-homeSome cringin' cove, to me his deathSeems more like martyrdom.

For most o' us have held betimeFoul murder in the heart;And them sad blokes I swung for crimeWere doomed right from the start.Of wilful choosing they had none,For freedom's most a fraud,And maybe in the end the oneResponsible is - God.